Comatose
by KimiruMai
Summary: Post Cell saga. Vegeta is ill with a familiar disease, and Bulma has no cure.As the Saiyan Prince slowly succumbs to a painful death at the hands of his own body, Bulma begins to recall exactly why she loves him, and how much it would hurt to lose him.
1. Inner Attacks

**A/N: This came to me literally two seconds ago, so, here it is. This one might be pretty short, but it'll have at least 5 chapters...I think. You guys know I suck at planning things. I'm more of a 'spur of the moment' kinda gal.**

**Summary: Set after the Cell Saga. Vegeta still isn't coming to terms with having a family, nor is his family coming to terms with having him, as much as they want to. But suddenly, Vegeta falls ill with a serious and dreadfully familiar disease, and Bulma no longer has the medicine to help him. As the Saiyan Prince slowly succumbs to a painful death at the hands of his own body, Bulma starts to rethink everything about him, and suddenly she remembers just why she fell in love with him, as well as how painful it would be to lose him.**

**Please enjoy my new story:**

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><p><strong>Comatose<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Inner Attacks<strong>

Vegeta sent a punch at an imaginary figure, his movements swift and graceful. He kicked at the air, recalling multiple moves from different Katas and piecing them all together into one.

He'd always been skilled at that.

He was currently training at 400's in his base form. He never went Super Saiyan until the very end of this training; that way, when his strength doubled in the transformation, his strength would increase twentyfold instead of ten.

Beads of sweat trailed his body. He blinked, tiny droplets flying off his lashes and rolling from his brow to the tip of his nose.

Kakarot was dead.

Dead.

He truly was the last Saiyan.

It didn't help that the damn third class's son was always around, taunting him.

How was it possible that a mere child had surpassed him so much? A child, not even a full blood, and his power was more than double the Saiyan Prince's!

A new bout of rage exploded in him suddenly, and he didn't bother holding back the transformation. With a loud battle cry, he let his energy erupt from him, his charcoal hair flashing to a bright blonde, his normally tan skin paling significantly in the light.

A damn half breed could not be stronger than him! He couldn't be! He was the Saiyan Prince!

Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to feel pain. Any physical pain surely would be better than the mental pain, the emotional pain.

Kakarot was dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

He no longer had a purpose in life. Ever since he was sent off to live with Frieza, he'd wanted nothing more than to be stronger. Senseless emotions had not clouded his mind; the sole reason he kept fighting was to fulfill the emptiness inside him, the emptiness that he'd been so sure was a result of a lack of power. He was hard, cold and ruthless, with no passion for anything except to kill, to hate, and to fight.

He was supposed to be the strongest, not some third class, and no way in hell was some third class half breed! Hell, the brat should have made up his own fourth class, just for not being of complete Saiyan blood! It wasn't right!

Dead.

Never would he get the change to take back his birthright as the strongest in the universe, never would he have the pleasure of beating the tyrant who'd tortured him and killed his people.

Damn that birthright thief. Damn him.

He'd never get a chance to really fight him again. Was the universe really only willing to let him have one crack at the best? He hadn't even fought Kakarot hands on, really; forcing him to reside to the Ozaru form, taking on all three (and eventually four) of them. Didn't he deserve one good hands-on fight, with no distractions, with nothing to make him hold back?

After all he'd been through, didn't he deserve that? Didn't he?

He cranked up the gravity to 500Gs, no longer feeling the pressure of 400 after his upgrade.

Not enough, not enough.

He wanted to feel pain. Anything to let his anger loose. He wanted to explode.

This is why he never let any emotions affect him. Ever since he came to this blasted backwater planet, he'd grown soft. The woman had softened him, and so had his son, even though he would never admit it. They'd made him soft.

Anger. That's all he felt right now. Pure fury.

He wanted to die.

It felt almost like when he'd become Super Saiyan. He'd felt no value in his life. He had for once no longer cared that he couldn't surpass Kakarot, or that he'd never be the one to avenge his people, his father, or that there was no longer any reason to go on living.

He just hadn't cared. And it felt so awful that he just exploded, quite literally, and then he changed.

All his hate and anger had been released in one scream; he was suddenly free, giddy with happiness, proud of himself again.

But this time, there was no release. He'd gone past Super Saiyan, something that shouldn't have even been possible, and this time there would be no release. He had reached his peak. His stupid emotions would be pent up inside him forever, and there would be no sweet release.

Pain. The pain would make it go away.

600Gs.

He felt his bones bending under the intense weight, but he didn't cry out in pain. He refused to.

"Pathetic!" he screamed at himself. "I did one handed pushups, injured, and in my base form at 400Gs! And now I can't even go past 600 as Super? Pathetic!"

He sent a Ki blast at a bot, which promptly redirected it and tossed it back at him. He leapt into the air, dodging it. The attack went straight to another bot, and performing the same action as the first, directed it back at the prince.

Damn you, Kakarot. Damn you for doing this to me.

None of it mattered anymore. He was without a rival. He had no purpose. He was the last one. His race was dead.

He had the chance to be wished back! Why would he not choose life? Did he not care that his beautiful race would be one step closer to extinction when he was gone? Didn't he even care?

Vegeta felt his heart rate speeding up.

Fury. That was all he'd ever known. Fury and hate.

_That's not true and you know it,_ a small part of him whispered. _You know love. You loved that woman, that much you showed her in bed. _

No, that was just lust…

_Don't kid yourself. What are you, some man-whore like Frieza's men? You lost..no, you __gave__ your virginity to that woman and you know it. _

"Shut up!" he snapped, dodging another blast. It came back at him almost immediately, too fast to dodge. He crossed his arms in front of his face, wincing as he felt his flesh become raw as the energy hit him full force.

With the bots no longer attacking him, the GR became strangely quiet. Vegeta blinked, then he grinned.

It was not a healthy grin.

It was a psychotic grin. A mad grin, with no sense of sanity present in his teal eyes.

He laughed.

Quietly at first, but then it grew louder until he was cackling madly, his deep rugged voice barking echoes against the metal walls.

Ha! Hahaha! He was talking to himself! He had voices in his head! Ha! He'd finally lost it! He'd finally cracked! Hahaha!

Voices in his head, voices in his head. They'd always been there, whispering things to him. Some of them were nice things. But most of them were bad things, telling him to rip out a throat, to shoot someone in the head, to break their spines.

Kill this, kill that.

He laughed harder, tears springing to his eyes as the insane amusement left his voice as was replaced by bitterness.

Kill, kill, kill. Do this, do that. Always orders. Do that, do this.

Leave me alone.

Slaughter. Take his life. Do it. Oh look, there's blood on your gloves. Look at that stain. It'll never come out. I know, let's kill more! Then they'll be fully red! Not a spot of white on them! Haha!

Leave me _alone._

Ah, those voices. How he hated them. And yet, he was just now coming to grips with the fact that they'd always been there. He'd always dismissed it as the normal mental debating that every being experiences every so often. He never figured he might need help.

He laughed again, the amusement returning. Help? Ha! Who needs it? He was the great Saiyan Prince Vegeta! He needed no one!

No one, no one, no one.

He chuckled before bursting into sick laughter again.

Oh, the irony of it all.

He barely ever laughed as a child. There had never been a reason too.

He liked to think that everyone deserved at least one childish tantrum after they'd reached maturity. Well, this was his.

_Your son. _

What?

_Your son, _says the voice. _You loved him too. Remember when he tried to save you in the Room of Spirit and Time? He thought you were on fire, probably because you were screaming bloody murder. But you batted him away like a common fly. _

"So what?" he said aloud. He was deluding himself, and he knew it. But he wanted to hear the voice's take on things.

Ha. He really had lost his mind.

_Remember when he died? When Cell killed him like it was nothing? You remembered that time. That was the first thing that came to you. And right after that, you remembered your son's blood curling scream when Android 18 shattered your arm. He rushed in to save you, didn't for one damn second think about Saiyan pride, just that he might've lost his father…again._

_And Cell killed him like it was __nothing__. That pissed you off, didn't it? You knew you'd screwed up. And it freaking pissed you off to no end. You didn't even think about reviving him with the Dragon Balls; the kid was barely dead for five minutes. All you knew was that someone had taken him from you, and suddenly you didn't want to lose him. But by then it was too late. Too late, because the blood was already spurting from his lips, because his abdomen was already nothing more than charred edges. _

_So you attacked._

"Get out of my head."

_You attacked with every ounce of force in you. In a way, you even delivered the final blow. You think Gohan would have beat him if you hadn't shot him from the side? It had been your last bit of energy._

"Get. Out."

The voice started a rhythm-less chant. It was mocking him, telling him things he already knew but had tried so hard to deny and suppress.

_You loved him you loved him you loved him he was your son and you loved him you loved him and he slipped through your fingers like sand your first son your child the offspring of the Saiyan Prince you loved him you loved him and he died and now he's gone but he's a baby now and you still don't hold him you just sit here wallowing in the fact that Kakarot's dead like the weakling you are and you just suffer all by yourself because you loved them and you're deluding yourself you loved him you loved him and you love the woman and you love your son and he's gone you'll never see him again because this Trunks will be different Mirai Trunks is gone gone gone he doesn't have a daddy does that make you feel happy? Gone gone gone gone gone just like your father gone gone gone gone gone he's gone and you can't fix it and you can't say you're sorry you love him you love him and he's gone – _

"SHUT UP!" He screamed. He flew at the walls, ramming his head against the metal, trying to get the voice out of his head. Dents appeared in the GR, the metal sharpened with each blow, cutting into his flesh.

Pain.

Yes, pain always made him forget.

Pain pain pain it hurts pain pain pain pain.

Sweet pain.

Blood.

He stopped suddenly, looking at the drops of red on the broken metal.

Where did that come from?

He felt his forehead, running his gloved hand through his hair. He pulled it away and looked at the soft white fabric.

Red.

Oh. It was his.

Well…he'd wanted to bleed, hadn't he? Didn't he want to wash away his torment with blood?

Didn't he?

He backed away from the wall, sinking to his knees in the middle of the room.

No. He didn't. The woman had changed him of that. She always bandaged his wounds, whether she was pissed at him or not, she never let him bleed. She never liked seeing him hurt, even though he deserved it. And for that reason and that reason alone, he'd stopped welcoming the pain.

He looked at his gloves and scowled.

_Let's turn them completely red! More blood, more blood! They won't look stained then! Red red red red. Yes, let's paint them red. _

"Shut up," he said again, almost pleasantly.

He laughed.

Quietly, then increasing, his voice growing louder with every chuckle, every snicker. And with each increase in volume, his heart rate went up.

Louder louder faster louder faster faster louder.

He laughed until he was screaming. He didn't yell about anything in particular, just tilted his head back and screamed.

He could hear his heart thudding in his ears. It had never beat that quickly before, he was sure of that.

But it wasn't as if he could stop it. No, he was too busy screaming and laughing that sick laugh of his.

His screams fell to soft chuckles again.

_I'm dying_, he thought, somewhat happily. _I'm dying, dying dying. Yep, I'm going to die. Finally._

_No daddy for this Trunks either, eh Vegeta?_

His eyes flew open, though he didn't remember closing them. Damn that voice. Too late he realized that it wasn't one of the many demons that came to haunt him and claim his sanity. It was his own voice, his conscious. It was the little itsy bitsy bit of goodness in him, shaking his head at his broken state.

No daddy for Trunks? That didn't sound nice. Actually, it sounded downright miserable.

"_Everyone died except Gohan," Mirai Trunks said softly. "My father, he died when I was just a baby."_

Just a baby, just a baby. Present Trunks was a baby now, wasn't he? One year old.

No…he'd be two in a few weeks.

Just a baby no daddy just a baby.

No daddy.

"_Be strong, my son," King Vegeta said. His normally blazing dark eyes were full of sorrow and regret. "I promise, I'll get you back. I promise."_

Nope! No no nope no. Lies, all a lie, just a lie! Just a silly little lie! His father was dead, dead dead dead. Frieza killed him, dead dead dead.

So much death.

He felt like someone had a hand around his heart, squeezing it mercilessly.

He couldn't die, or Trunks wouldn't have a father. That wasn't entirely fair, now was it? Who would train the kid? Gohan had in the Mirai timeline, but that hardly counted. Besides, Mirai Trunks had been far too polite for Vegeta's taste. Who would teach the kid about his Saiyan spunk, his heritage?

Well, he'd have to do it. No one else could.

He forced himself to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gulps as he staggered out of the GR.

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><p>Bulma sipped her coffee, flipping through blueprints at the kitchen table. Her lab was just too secluded right now, and besides, Trunks was awake.<p>

She suddenly became aware that the GR had become unnaturally loud. It was then that she realized her husband was laughing.

That was strange.

She stood up to go check on him, but stopped as the noise suddenly ceased. Now it was unnaturally quite.

That was even stranger.

"Oh, Trunks!" she cried suddenly, pulling the child away from the stove. "Don't mess with that! How did you get out of your playpen anyway?" She glanced at the now mangled child safety precaution she'd set up after Trunks had learned to walk…and run. "Never mind," she sighed.

She sat the little boy on the couch, only for him to climb down and start running around the big living room in circles. Bulma sighed, glancing at him over the bar table that separated the kitchen from the family room, and seeing as he wasn't in any danger, she went back to her blueprints.

Five minutes later, she felt tugging on her leg. Trunks' sharp blue eyes looked at her intelligently.

Bulma smiled at how much he resembled his father. Sure, his coloring was like hers, but other than that, he was his father's spitting image, with his cute little nose and firm chin, despite the baby fat.

His eyes were so much like Vegeta's…

The boy tugged on her pants leg again, demanding her attention.

"What's up, little man?" she asked.

The toddler glanced behind him and back at her, his blue eyes betraying no hint of boredom, but instead, an informative look.

"Daddy!" he cried.

Bulma blinked. Trunks had long ago said his first word, which was 'da da', to Vegeta's feigned annoyance, so it wasn't surprising that he'd mentioned his father.

"What about Daddy, squirt?" she asked.

"Daddy!" he cried again, this time more urgently. He yanked repeatedly on her pants leg, his still chubby legs bouncing with anxiety.

Still confused, Bulma bent down to pick him up when a deep voice made her stop short.

"Woman…"

She looked up and saw Vegeta leaning against the door frame. Blood poured freely from a nasty gash above his hairline, dripping down into his eyes and down his nose to his cheeks. His skin looked flushed, his big muscles trembling noticeably.

"Oh, god," Bulma whispered.

"I – " he started. His voice was raspy, like he was struggling to breathe. "I…I can't…help me…"

Bulma's brain hardly registered the fact that Vegeta _never_ under any circumstances, asked for help. She quickly sat Trunks down and darted forward, barely making it in time to catch her mate's falling body as they both crashed to the kitchen floor.

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><p><strong>AN: Ten hypothetical dollars to whoever can guess what sickness has overcome our one and only favorite Saiyan Prince. **

**~KimiruMai**


	2. Scream

**A/N: For you dear smart peoples that guess 'heart disease', well done. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned DBZ then Veggie would have whooped a lot more butts instead of giving Goku all the spotlight. Not that I don't like him, but still, some things were just ridiculous. Like Veggie's hair cut in GT.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Scream<strong>

Everything's fuzzy. I think my eyes are open, but I honestly can't tell. I must be on the floor. That would explain the ugly cream white that I think I'm looking at. The Brief's little kitchen wasn't the most attractive room in the house.

I feel my Onna underneath me. I started to panic a little. Why the hell was her heart beating that fast?

Oh, wait. That's mine.

Hn. Well, that's not entirely comforting, either.

Her heart _is_ beating fast though. She's panicking too. I don't know how she managed to get underneath me. I just remember falling, and seeing a flash of blue hair before my senses went haywire.

"Vegeta!_" _

Ow. Does she have to yell so much? Stubborn little banshee.

"Vegeta! What's wrong with you? Vegeta! Please, answer me! Vegeta!_"_

Nngh. My head hurts. And my chest hurts. Actually, all of me hurts. My heart is hammering, slamming into my ribcage in an unnaturally rhythm-less chant…

_Just like the voice._

_**Gone, gone, gone he's gone he's gone he's gone and you can't fix it you can't say you're sorry because he's gone gone gone….**_

_Dammit. _

Strange, foreign relief washes over me as I feel slightly chubby little hands on my back and shoulders, patting my hot skin.

"Daddy!_" Pat pat pat. _

_My son. _

Ha! See, he's not gone. He's right here. My son. Trunks. That reminds me, what a silly little name.

"Daddyyyyy!_" _His little voice sounds worried, upset.

Intelligent little brat, isn't he?

"Trunks! Go get Mommy the phone, okay sweetie?_"_

"Phone?_" _

"Yes, the thingie on the wall over there! Go get it!_"_

Silly woman. Like the brat can reach it.

I hear little grunts and the sound of soft flesh smacking gently against the wall. Then a growl.

"Hmph! Mommy, can't!_"_

I would've snickered if I could breathe properly. I see this one takes after me more so than the woman. What a classic snarl the kid has.

"Keep trying, Trunksie! You can do it!_" She's struggling underneath me, trying to push me off. I guess I'm too heavy, or the woman is merely a weakling. Probably the latter._

Another miniature snarl. I wonder if he scowls like I do. His coloring is close to Bulma's, but everyone says he looks like me in the face. I suppose he does; his tan skin matches mine, and he's got my eyes, and my nose.

_Bulma took his purple hair once and make it stand up with baby soap. "Look, Vegeta! It's a little purple you!" she laughed. "Isn't he cute? Gosh, he looks just like you. It's uncanny, almost!"_

"_Hmph," I'd said, rolling my eyes. "Sure he does."_

"_I mean it! Look at that scowl, it's just like yours! And you know he smiled the other day? He's got your smirk too! And his eyes are shaped just like yours and –"_

"_Alright, woman, I get it. He's a regular mini-me. Happy now?"_

I'd been secretly pleased. My genes did show strongly in his little features. I remember my own father's chest would swell with pride when anyone complemented us on our similarities. It was true, I'd favored my father greatly. Now, I suppose the only thing that would keep us separated had he been alive was his beard and lighter hair.

"Come on, Trunks! Hit the wall, or something! Dang it, where's my parents when I need them? Trunks, throw your bouncy ball at it or something – oh, my god._" _

What's she babbling about now?

I try to force my eyes to focus, but only see black. Huh, they _were_ closed. In which case, I forced them open.

_My god, my nearly two year old son is flying. _I didn't fly until I was three.

He floats back to the ground a bit shakily, stumbling as he landed and falling on his backside. A small hiss escapes his lips as he stands up again, his little feet making more pit pat sounds as he runs back to the Onna with the phone in his hand.

She takes it in awe before snapping back to the present and begins punching numbers.

"Chi Chi? It's Bulma. Look, I know you're busy with the baby, but please, I need your help! Vegeta just came and crashed to the kitchen floor on top of me! He's not even that bloody!...There's a gash on his forehead, but that's not nearly enough to make him pass out!...Oh god, his heart is beating so fast…you don't think it's…Oh Dende…oh please God, no…Thank you! I think the door's locked; just tell Gohan to break it. Please hurry!"

Hmph. Like I want that brat to help.

She'd dialing more numbers now.

"Yamcha! I need your help!"

_Goddammit, woman! What did you call that imbecile for? I'd much rather have Kakarot's brat help me, and only because I know there's no possible way for me to do it myself._

I can vaguely hear him going on in the background.

"_What's the matter? Are you hurt?"_

"No! It's Vegeta!"

"_What? Did he hurt you?"_

"What? No! Don't be stupid! He's passed out! I think he's got Goku's virus! His pulse is going crazy! I already called Chi Chi, and Gohan's coming, but I need someone to get Trunks and take care of him while I take care of Vegeta. My parents aren't here, and I don't want to make too much work for Chi, with Goten and all –"

"_I'll be there in a minute!" _

_Damn it. I don't want that weakling near my kid. Idiocy is contagious._

"Thanks, Yam."

I force my eyes open again at the thump that sounded close to my face. I hadn't realized I'd closed them again. My hazy vision sorts through what resembles a pixilated image, and I finally recognize fuzzy blue socks.

My eyes float up and catch two blue orbs, staring back at me through soft purple lashes.

Ha. He _is_ scowling.

"Daddy!" he says, the scowl leaving his little mouth, though the mutual seriousness in our eyes never wavers for a second. He pushes on my shoulders with a significant force; yes, this is my son.

A small smile finds its way onto my lips.

"Hello, Trunks," I whisper.

The woman turned to me sharply. "Vegeta!" she started. "We have to get you to the medical ward, or the hospital or something! You have to get off of me so I can – "

I don't hear the rest of what she says.

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><p>Oh, God, please don't let him have that virus. Please no.<p>

Goku, Chi Chi and Yamcha used all the medicine when Goku had it, and to make sure they didn't catch it. Future Trunks only brought one bottle. That was all we were supposed to need.

It's all gone. There's nothing I can give him, and it was all used up before I could analyze and copy it. I have nothing to help me save him.

He's too heavy for me to lift off. He weighs at least 200 pounds; all of it densely packed Saiyan muscle. I really need to start working out.

"Daddy!" Trunks cries again.

A small pause, then, "Hello, Trunks."

"Vegeta!" I cried. "We have to get you to the medical ward, or the hospital or something! You have to get off of me so I can – " I stop short when I realize he's out cold again. Great.

I finally scramble out from underneath him after what seems like an eternity. My eyes scan his sweaty, muscled body, noticing the tenseness in his shoulders. His breath was still coming in short gasps.

Please hurry, guys…

I was shocked when Trunks literally flew to get the phone. Well, he is the son of the Prince of Saiyans, but still, he won't even be two years old until next month. Oh well. Ha, knowing my luck he'll be a Super Saiyan at like, 8 years old. Wouldn't that be something.

I try to go over in my head any second that Vegeta had been around Goku when he had the virus. The only time I could think of that they'd ever been in the same 150 mile radius was during the battle with Android 19 and Android 20. I'd heard that Vegeta had stopped the Androids from beating Goku to a pulp, stating that his reasoning was because he wanted to destroy Goku himself.

Destroy him, my ass. Sure, maybe Vegeta wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp, but no way did he want Goku dead. I knew him, and even if Goku wouldn't listen to a word Vegeta said, Vegeta was still his Prince, and Goku was still his...subject.

No Prince wants the last of his subjects killed, especially not by his own hand.

Dende, please don't let him have this virus. Already Goku is gone and now…

I don't know that I could handle loosing anyone else, much less my husband. He is _mine_. This virus will not take him, not like it was supposed to take Son-kun from ChiChi in the Mirai Timeline.

I _won't_ let this take him from me. No way in hell.

I hear the lock to the front door jiggling, and suddenly the door is kicked open when the lock won't budge.

"Bulma! Where are you guys at?"

Gohan. Thank Dende.

"In the kitchen!" I yelled.

In a flash of movement, Gohan is standing in the doorway. His boyish features look so much like Goku's as his eyes widen, observing the situation.

"Holy crap," he gawked.

If ChiChi were here, she'd swat him upside the head. "Come on Gohan! Can you carry him to the medical ward? I'll call for paramedics, but I don't think we can move him far right now!"

"Okay, Bulma. Calm down, don't panic. I got him," he said reassuringly.

I must have sounded like I was on the verge of panic. But that was silly. I am Bulma Briefs of Capsule Corporation, and I do _not _panic. Nevertheless, I took a deep breath and counted to ten as Gohan picked Vegeta up by the waist and darted out of the room at lightning speed.

One, two…

I pulled in a breath of air.

Three, four…

Trunks starts crying, whether from the near tangible tension in the air or from having his father taken away, I don't know.

Five, six…

I reached for the telephone again and dialed 911.

Seven, eight…

"911, what's your emergency?"

Nine…

What the hell am I doing? I need a special doctor, not a damn ambulance! I slammed the phone back on its hook after yelling sorry into the receiver, took it off again and redialed.

"Dr. Yoshida's office, how may I help you?" a male voice answers.

"Doc, I need another favor. It's an emergency."

* * *

><p>At first, the pain is dull, numbing. I can't feel anything besides my heart thudding. I am vaguely aware that Kakarot's brat has carried me to the med ward, a place I am not particularly fond of, but well acquainted with. He laid me out on the bed, and seconds later I feel a cool cloth on my forehead.<p>

That's when the pain starts.

I screamed.

* * *

><p>I wish Future Trunks was here. He'd know what to do.<p>

Trunks said I was his mentor, like a father figure to him. And yet I have no idea what to do in this situation. I know the medicine for Dad is all gone, and now there is nothing left to help Vegeta with. I can't stand the thought of Present Trunks not growing up with a father. Even if he doesn't have to life in the hellish world Mirai Trunks lives in, being without a father sucks…I should know.

I don't understand why Dad wouldn't come back. I'm sure the Earth can attract plenty of danger with or without him. If he was here, we'd have some defense. I mean, sure, Vegeta and I can handle it…but what about our families?

Maybe if Dad was here, he'd be able to think of something too.

If Mr. Briefs was here, he could give Vegeta something to slow his heart rate, but until Bulma gets up here I can't give him anything.

I don't know if I could lose anyone else.

I always liked Vegeta. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges, but I think he's a good guy. I mean, he did save my life on Namek…more than once. And then he helped us fight the android, and he distracted Cell so I could overpower it…

I think that without Vegeta, we wouldn't have made it out of a lot of sticky situations. Everyone else in the Z Gang might disagree, but…well, I was never one to let people's opinions change my own.

I put him down on the bed and dampened a cloth in the sink, pressing to his forehead. Almost immediately, his eyes flew open and he screamed. Maybe my hearing isn't as advanced as a Full Blood, but it is far more advanced than the average human. And let me tell you something…

Vegeta is _loud_.

I'm not kidding, that man can scream. And he says Bulma is a screeching banshee. I winced and fought the urge to cover my ears as I tried to hold him down while he thrashed.

Didn't go over too well.

Bulma and Trunks appeared in the doorway just in time to witness Vegeta's arm shooting out and slamming me into the wall beside the doorframe. I groaned and rubbed the back of my head.

We have to get him to stop thrashing, or he'll tear this place apart.

Bulma sits Trunks down and rushes to the cabinets, taking out a shot and filling it with heavy sedatives.

"Hold him _down_, Gohan!"

I pinned down his arms, or tried to, anyway, before he batted me away again. I growled subconsciously, upgrading to Super Saiyan.

Holding him down is no longer an issue.

Bulma stabbed the needle in his arm quickly, and seconds later, Vegeta lay still.

I glanced at the gash on his forehead. What had he done to himself this time? Probably broke something in the GR. Dad never trained like that. He'd do it the healthy way. I think maybe that's why he got stronger so much faster. Maybe.

A new Ki signature popped into my conscious suddenly. "Yamcha's here," I said.

Bulma nodded. "Go tell him where we are, will you?" She was already bandaging Vegeta's wounds.

I nodded, and rushed out the door.

* * *

><p>He's got blood everywhere.<p>

I swear, as soon as he's better, I'm going to kill him for doing this to himself. I bandaged the gash on his forehead first, cleaning away as much blood as I can before I wrapped his head in gauze. His arms are practically burned raw, no doubt from a Ki attack, and he has fresh cuts and bruises decorating his body.

Trunks has stopped crying, like he knows this really isn't the time. Sometimes I can't help thinking that maybe I have a genius baby that completely understands everything going on around him.

It's not fair. Childhood has been stolen from Gohan already. Baby Goten won't have a dad. Son-kun is dead, and Vegeta lost his parents at five. Mirai Trunks has no one but my future self...

It's not fair, dammit.

I kissed my Prince's cheek, which is hot from his racking fever and extensive training.

Please survive, Vegeta.

Please.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I am super sorry! I have had major writers block lately, and it's not as nearly as long as I wanted. **

**But I hope you guys liked the chapter. **

**I think this story will be mainly in first person unless it's talking about Vegeta's heart virus when he's not conscious, or just as a little surprise every now and then. **

**REVIEW PLEASE!**

**~KimiruMai**


	3. It Hurts

**A/N: Sorry it took so long guys. Finals are in like 3 days and I'm supposed to be studying right now but as usual, here I am. Also, I've been busy with ASTAC and TOL and trying to stop new ideas from invading my mind…not going over too well. **

**Anyhow, I think this story will continue for a chapter more after this, maybe two. **

**Also, I've gone on a major Paramore craze. Seriously, they rank with Flyleaf and Skillet. That's how much I love them. **

**Disclaimer: Dear lawyers. When I throw my computer at you so you can read the many disclaimers I've already published and it hits you in the head, all I'm going to say is…**

**WHY DIDN'T YOU DOOOOOOOOOODGE!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: It Hurts. <strong>

Oh God, it burned. It burned so much. It hurt, so much pain that he couldn't bear it...

His chest shook with seizures, every nerve in his muscles tightening to a point that they absolutely ached, and he would do anything, _anything_ to make it stop.

His throat was dry, his tongue thick, so much so that maybe not even water would dampen it again, much less his own saliva. His skin felt as if it were on fire, his blood boiling as if he was comprised entirely of burning flakes of ash. Sweat rolled across his temples and the back of his neck as if he'd stood in the rain for hours, and his thick lashes fluttered as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

He could hear soft whispers, soothing flutters of a feminine voice murmuring to him in gentle tones. He felt cold, thin liquid on his feverish brow, cool fingers on his flushed cheeks. Sometimes the gentle soothing would stop, and the smooth, slender fingers would disappear and be replaced with thicker, rougher ones. Sometimes something cold would be placed on his chest, just above his heart. He felt a dull, numbing pain just below his right elbow, and every so often he would also feel a sharp pinprick of pain in his bicep.

These pinpricks normally came when he was thrashing.

"… _going to be okay, right, Doc?" _

"_I don't…Briefs…never worked with…before…I'll…best I can…please, be patient…" _

The voices, sometimes three, sometimes two, echoed dully in the back of his mind, and he hardly registered them. As it was, he only caught part of the conversation.

"…_tried everything, Daddy…I can't figure…affects…human anatomy…much less Saiyan ana…"_

"…_worrying too…need to rest…"_

"…_be stupid…get this for him…geta needs…" _

That woman's voice…it sounded so familiar. He knew he'd heard it before, many times, but he couldn't place it. At least, not until he caught a piece of his name.

Bulma…

* * *

><p>He still screams every so often. I don't think I've ever heard him scream like this before. I've heard his battle cries, his fits of rage, and even cries of pain occasionally echoing from the GR, but never, ever, have I heard him scream this way.<p>

He's in so much pain, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

I have taken samples of his blood and studied them with the utmost care, trying desperately to identify anything that resembles any heart virus I have ever seen. And yet, I find nothing. Not even the slightest clue. What's worse, I have no other Saiyan blood to compare it with; already, his blood cells are so drastically different from that of humans. I've had to start completely from scratch, but what I have to go off is so little that I barely even have that. The medicine that would cure him isn't supposed to come for another twenty years…

And by then, it will be far, far too late.

Nothing in this world can fix this disaster. Not even the great Shenron, who back in the day would solve nearly all of our problems. The Dragon Balls have just recently been used to restore the Earth to its original glory from which Cell destroyed it, and will not be active again for another year. I couldn't wish for him to be cured, no, but now I can't even wish for the medicine to make him better.

I don't _have_ a whole fucking year.

My father says I should rest. Doctor Yoshida says I need to get some sleep. I can't.

I suddenly wonder why we have no cure for this disease, as advanced as the world is. Surely someone as smart as my father and I exist in the medicine world. Then I realize that it's for the very reason I am frustrated now.

There was nothing on the virus to study, because a human would most likely be dead within a day.

It's been three since Vegeta crashed in the kitchen.

My father has assembled a team to do blood work and analyze the virus. So far they have come up with nothing, same as me, and I don't even specialize in this. I am glad, though, that after meeting Goku, I worked studiously in a few medicine classes, fully prepared to perform even delicate surgeries if the need were to ever occur.

And occur it did.

So, no, I don't particularly _specialize_ in medicine, but I do have a Master's degree. Unfortunately, it's not helping much. Vegeta's blood is so strange. I don't know what in God's name didn't make me think that, _hey, your lover might be in a serious injury one day, and Son-kun hates needles! You might need to study Saiyan anatomy!_

I feel like such an idiot.

As of right now, I'm leaving the work to the "professionals". Doctor Yoshida has other patients, and there is currently nothing he can do now anyway. Even though he is the only doctor on Earth that has ever dealt with Saiyans, even he has no idea of what do with a virus such as this one.

So, here I am, sitting once again beside Vegeta's bed in the infirmary. Except, this time, I can't tend to his wounds. The only thing I can do is give him heavy sedatives to slow his heart rate, and refill the IV bag once every hour to give his body as much nutrients as possible. With his Saiyan anatomy, we might have to restock the clinic.

At first I worried that I, my father, or Doctor Yoshida might catch the virus. Then I changed my mind. It is a pointless thing, I decided, that Dr. Yoshida has taken extreme caution to avoid catching the disease himself. Are a doctor's mask, gloves, and thick coat enough to protect anybody from something like this? I don't bother wearing anything. I know it won't do any good. Anyway, Chichi and Yamcha were exposed to Goku's virus, and they're alright. Surely I can find a cure before…

I _can_ find a cure.

I dipped a rag in cool water, wringing it out a little before I pressed it to Vegeta's burning forehead. I blinked as I realized that my head was beginning to ache from my brow being scrunched for so long, and I loosened my features as I gazed at the man before me.

I stopped mid-swipe, the wet rag still on his face. Drops of water mixed with the sweat on his skin, running slowly down his temple. His brow furrows and unfurrows swiftly, as if he is bracing himself against a forceful enemy.

Tears brimmed in my eyes as I watched him. According to Chichi, when Goku had the virus, he was screaming bloody murder the majority of the time. The only time he had really stopped was when the worst had passed, or when he had screamed himself hoarse. That's why it worried me that Vegeta hadn't screamed as much. I thought that maybe it was taking a toll on him faster than it had on Son-kun.

I was wrong.

After so many years under Frieza, Vegeta knew better than to scream aloud when he was weakened. If he could help it, not a sound passed his lips. Even though he has relaxed a bit on Earth, old habits die hard. So, while he's here on the infirmary bed, he fights every scream he can.

Not a whole lot, but definitely less than what you'd expect.

Every so often, though, he groans and cries out, but the tenseness of his jaw tells me that he's struggling not to let them slip, and there are small bruises on his bottom lip where he bit down too hard. A small breath of air puffs through my lips as I sigh, and run my thumb over the bruises. He doesn't flinch.

I brushed the rest of the sweat and water from his forehead, and he gives a pained sigh. I take the bowl of ice water, set it aside, and halfway lounged across the small table by the bed, propping my head up with my hand. After maybe ten minutes, my elbow starts to hurt, so I folded my arms across the hard surface and laid my head down. Just like the first time Vegeta was here, I fell asleep by his bedside.

Perhaps an hour later, I awoke to hearing him groan loudly, his muscles jerking as his own body attacked him. He tossed his head from side to side, gripping the fresh, pristine white sheets that replaced the blood soaked ones from days ago. Beads of sweat were once again rolling down his temples, soaking the back of his neck and falling into his closed eyes. I reached for the cloth and bowl immediately, but I had just gotten my hands on them when he lets out the most agonizing moan I'd ever heard.

I rushed to his side, damp cloth in hand. His fidgeting calms for a moment, though he shifts and pushes his head closer to my hand. I wiped the sweat from his flushed cheeks, humming a soft tune to relax him.

Vegeta groans softly again, and his eyes opened slowly, ebony black eyes just barely hidden beneath dark lashes.

Holy shit…

"Vegeta…" I whispered, shocked that he was awake.

"Woman," he rasped, his voice nearly gone.

"You're such an asshole," I murmured, wiping his forehead again. I didn't say whether I meant him calling me that, catching the damn virus, or just being an ass in general. I didn't really need to.

A ghost of his cocky smirk appears at the corner of his mouth. "And yet, you…love me anyway, foolish wench."

I smiled warmly at him, smoothing his wild hair. "Yes," I said, "yes, I do. Very much."

"Idiot woman," he muttered, almost fondly, and his eyelids fluttered before flying open as he gasped in pain. His body jerked, so hard that it almost made him sit straight up, but I carefully pushed him back down.

"Shhhh. It's alright. You're gonna be okay," I said, softly but firmly. I smoothed his hair again and kissed his forehead, and he closed his eyes. Then, they flashed open again, wide with what could have been a cross between shock, worry, and dread.

"Where's Mirai?" he whispered.

I blinked at him. "Vegeta…Mirai went home weeks ago."

He blinked too, and frowned for a moment before he let his head fall back to the pillows and his eyes closed again. "I didn't tell him…" his voice trailed off, lost in unconsciousness.

Tell him what?

* * *

><p>Trunks did not smile at me. Quite the opposite, actually. He <em>glared<em> at me.

Yeah, that's definitely Vegeta's kid.

It's not that Trunks doesn't like me. I've played with him plenty of times when I was over to visit Bulma, so no, he doesn't hate me. There is a particular reason that he is staring at me with such contempt as of now.

It's the fact that I'm not his father.

Sure as hell wish I was, though.

"Daddy," Trunks demanded.

I shook my head. "Sorry, kiddo. Daddy…doesn't feel good right now. You can see him when he's better."

It felt so weird calling Vegeta "daddy", even when talking to a little kid. 'Daddy' and 'Vegeta' are two words I never thought I'd say in the same sentence, especially when referring to the same man with either title. It just amazes me that someone could…tame him, I guess I'll say. No doubt, Bulma's got the skills of a professional lion tamer, but I thought that, if anybody, _Vegeta_ would be able to outsmart her. Bulma tamed me, but I can say with dignity that Vegeta is a little bit more…wild, than I am. I didn't think even she could do it.

Guess I was wrong.

Alright, so he's still not exactly a Prince Charming. He's actually quite a jackass, what with killing me and all. But he _has_ changed; I saw that on the battlefield.

The first – and last – time I ever admired him was that last day fighting Cell. I'd seen Vegeta have fits of rage first hand, as often as I was over to Capsule Corp during those three years before the Androids. He often yelled at Bulma about the gravity machine, and at me for continuously making failed attempts to defend her, and often hissed out all kinds of profanities when she told him that he would have to wait as a result of either her being busy or some special part that would have to be shipped.

But I had never seen him so utterly furious as when Cell's blast impaled Mirai Trunks through the stomach.

The rage that Vegeta exhibited that day was frightening, even more so than the calm, frustratingly cocky attitude he had the first day we met. The world could have possibly imploded if he had gotten any angrier, which I doubt was possible. I think it was the most emotion I'd ever seen on his face before.

He wanted to kill somebody, and for once, it was for genuine hate towards the thing that had taken someone he cared for.

Mirai, as we now call him, was a pretty cool kid. It's weird, but he was kind of the opposite of both Bulma and Vegeta. Both of them are arrogant and short tempered, cocky and disturbingly calculating. Mirai Trunks was very soft spoken and polite, focused, but not the one-track-mind type. I guess it was from living the torturous life he did, but still.

This new kid that is still glaring at me, though, might turn out just a little bit different.

"Here, Trunks," I said cheerfully, offering him a baseball. "Wanna play toss?"

The almost two year old scowled at me, took the ball, and threw it at my head. I barely had time to duck before the ball was implanted in the wall behind me.

"Daddy!" he said again, more forcefully.

"You're one scary kid, you know that?" I said.

"Weak-ing," Trunks said, still tripping over the word.

I sighed. "You've been hanging around your Dad a lot, haven't you?"

"Daddy?" he asked, his little voice sounding hopeful.

I shook my head. "Sorry, kiddo. Mommy said no-no."

Trunks' lower lip trembled, and I almost panicked. I did not want to hear Trunks cry, especially after the last "episode" he had. He had just let out the first of many wails when Mrs. Briefs, or Bunny, as she insist we call her, sauntered in.

"Trunksie!" she all but hollered. "Look what Grandma bought you!" She revealed a shiny red toy motorcycle, at which Trunks squealed with joy and reached for with chubby fingers.

Bunny gave it to him immediately, and he drove it around on the carpet. "Vroom, vroom!" he said.

I sighed in relief. "Thanks, Mrs. Briefs," I said.

"Oh, Yamcha, sweetie, I told you to call me Bunny," she chirped. "You know my husband and I think of all of Bulma's friends as family."

Friends, huh. It's never pleasant when your ex's mom refers to you as a friend. I admit it, Bulma and I probably would have killed each other, or at least, she'd have killed me, if we ever got married. Still doesn't mean I'm happy with her choice, but eh, what can you do?

I just sighed again. I wished Vegeta would hurry up and heal so I can leave. Not only because I'm starting to feel uncomfortable, or because I honestly don't want Bulma to lose someone else, but because –

I ducked again. This time, a block with a blue 'T' on it sticks to the drywall.

"Vroom, vroom!" Trunks said, looking at me with deceivingly innocent eyes.

Mrs. Briefs just laughed, and disappeared into the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Doctor Yoshida came back today. I took a much needed nap, and only awoke hours later when I heard a blood-curling scream. I jumped up from my bed and raced down the stairs, where Doc sat in a heap on the floor against the wall, a good ten feet from Vegeta, who is currently thrashing on the bed.<p>

"I'm alright!" Yoshida rasped. "Get the needle! Hurry!"

I looked around and saw a syringe lying on the floor, and about to roll underneath the cabinet. I dove for it, just barely catching it in time.

"Yamcha!" I screamed.

He was upstairs in a split second, a look of worry and panic on his face. He looked at Vegeta, then at me, and finally at the syringe in my hand. He understood immediately, and went to pin Vegeta down the best he could.

Didn't work too well.

The second Yamcha had barely touched him, Vegeta lashed out, slamming him into the farthest wall. Unlike the Doctor, whose body wasn't exactly study enough, Yamcha left a human shaped indent. He groaned and rubbed his head as he peeled himself away from the cracked plaster.

I know Gohan can't be here all the time, but a Super Saiyan really would be great right about now.

"Geez!" Yamcha cried as he went to try again. "Goku wasn't this violent! Ouch!"

I would have to apologize later for the harsh purple bruise that was now on his chin, since God knows Vegeta wouldn't. He'd probably laugh, actually.

"He's dreaming," I said, attempting to move closer after I help Yoshida to his feet.

"Well, no shit. Guess his nightmares are little worse than Goku's."

_You don't say?_

"Can't you at least pin one arm down?" I asked as I tried to get close enough to give Vegeta the sedative.

Yamcha gave me a withering look, and dodged another flying punch. "Where's Gohan when you need him?" he groaned.

Tears pricked at my eyes when Vegeta screamed again. His hands clawed at his heart, as if it was a heated brand on his skin. His cries were laced with pure agony, and sometime later in my life I would wonder who's heart it hurt more; his, or mine.

I didn't really realize that I was moving until I was at his sides again, and my hands reached out to touch his burning face.

"Bulma!" Yamcha yelped. I ignored him. Vegeta gave one more cry, softer, before his movements calmed. He still tossed and turned, still groaned and shuddered, but he had calmed at my touch. That warmed my heart like crazy, it really did, and I swore harder than ever that I would find a way to create that medicine and save him.

"You two can go," I said softly. "I've got it from here."

"Are you sure, Miss Briefs?" Yoshida asked, still looking a bit winded.

I nodded.

Yamcha didn't look convinced. "B-chan – " he started.

"I'm okay, Yamcha."

He hesitated, then nodded once. He and Yoshida left without another word, the doctor home to rest and Yamcha back to Trunks. I was grateful to have them here, I really was, but I suddenly just wanted to be alone with my husband...or, my mate, as Vegeta prefers to say, since we aren't actually married (and because it's the Saiyan term). I do not panic like Chichi does. I can handle myself.

I slid the needle in Vegeta's bicep quickly, though I had to push on it a little harder than normal because of how tense his muscles were. He flinched (a good thing, perhaps), and a small hiss slipped past pearly, gritted teeth, intensified by the sharp fangs that made up his canines. I also noticed that the IV from Vegeta's arm is dangling from the rack; and no wonder, with him moving around so much.

I watched him silently, cursing myself for being useless to lessen his pain other than the little good the sedatives did. Enough xylazine to kill an elephant was in each of those shots, and they only slowed his heart rate for three hours. Of course, his Saiyan immune system burned them off so quickly and easily; I could have given him a hundred of those shots, and it might've just made him feel queasy.

I tossed the needle in the disposal and stick the IV back in his arm, and putting a band-aid on the small cut that he managed to give himself when he accidentally ripped it out.

He groans softly, and his eyes fluttered open just as I'm tossing the needle in the trash.

"Woman," he said, so quietly I just barely heard him.

I whirled, and am at his side again in an instant, one of my small hands wrapped around one of his bigger ones. "I'm here," I said softly, knowing he probably had a headache.

"I know," he whispered.

I smiled halfheartedly. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit," he said.

I almost frowned, but countered it by pressing my lips together slightly before I smiled again. "Hn," I said, imitating his favorite response.

"You don't do it right, Woman," he said, smirking.

"Whatever," I said, and squeezed his hand.

To my surprise, he squeezed back.

"Can I get anything for you?" I asked.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if thinking about it, then said, "I'm thirsty."

I quickly filled a paper cup with water from the tap, lifted his head, and held it to his lips. He drank slowly, as if each drop was painful, and he only downed half of it before he pushed it away. I sat it on the table and took his hand again.

"Don't coddle me, Woman," he muttered.

I snorted. "Are you kidding? You're totally incapacitated right now. I'll coddle you all I want."

"Idiot woman."

"Stupid man."

He winced suddenly, and a small whimper slipped through his parted lips as a shudder of pain shook his body. "It hurts," he whispered.

Two giant tears slid down both of my cheeks as I squeezed his hand again and gently brushed the back of my hand against his cheek.

"I know, baby. I know."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I do believe my writing technique has improved drastically (XD) since I last improved this. **

**If anyone agrees, a review would be nice :)**

**OMG I'm such a genius, just thought of a great bit for ASTAC XD I bet you're all gunna kill me now for putting you on edge.**

**Also, I've started a sort of spiritual novel on FictionPress, if anybody wants to look. I'm under the same penname. It's sorta kinda a little bit based off of my life, but with a much darker twist. **

**REVIEW!**

**~KimiruMai.**


	4. Awake

**Last chapter, peoples! Thanks so much for following this story, love you all! BTW, I totally made up any of this medical/scientific crap here. Believe none of it. Also, it's very early in the morning but I can't wait so there may be a few mistakes. If this is the case I might re-upload later.**

**Disclaimer: This is for my own strange sense of amusement. **

**Prompt: How To Save A Life, by the Fray**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: Awake.<strong>

He was tired, so tired.

He was tired of fighting for what would never be his. He was tired of trying to be the best, he was tired of trying his hardest and receiving nothing, and he was tired of feeling so alone. He was tired of not understanding, tired of trying to understand, and tired of being the only one left. He was tired of dealing with that darkness that still lay quietly in the deepest corners of his heart, tired of pretending it wasn't still there, and tired of pretending he didn't want it gone.

He had been tired of fighting for his life daily under Frieza, and now he was tired of fighting for his pride daily under the shadow of a dead hero. But it wasn't just that his very soul was tired (and it was, make no mistake), but he was physically tired as well. He was tired of lying here helpless and tired of that burning in his chest. He was tired of wanting to sleep only to be forced into consciousness by pounding headaches and fast heartbeats. He was so exhausted…all he wanted was a little bit of uninterrupted rest. Was that so much to ask?

Something was different about this tiredness. It felt too smothering, too….dangerous. He could feel his strength slipping away slowly, and it only seemed to worsen when he reached to take it back. The harder he fought the darkness that threatened to consume him, the closer it came. Sometimes it felt like the pain was dulling, but that didn't reassure him in the slightest; why, he wondered, would it feel so dull and numbing, if he hadn't been given any medicine yet?

An unaware human might say that this strange tiredness was just a result of lying down for so long. After all, how long had it been since he'd truly moved? A human who knew better might say that it was just the effects of being comatose, and that he _should_ be tired after all his heart had gone through.

Vegeta knew it wasn't either of these things. This numbness, this exhaustion, he'd felt it before. Only a few select people in the universe, all of which he knew personally, could ever know this feeling and live to tell about it. He'd felt it once already, and it was so sickeningly familiar that it actually frightened him. He had secretly prayed every day that he would never feel this feeling again, but here it was, in all its haunting glory.

This numbness...

It meant he was dying.

* * *

><p>I'm so tired, I can barely think. The little cat-naps that I barely have time to take aren't helping me at all, no matter how much coffee I drink.<p>

I was never a workaholic type person. I was a scientist who was blessed with riches and my dream job, which, to be perfectly honest, is more of a hobby to me than anything. Being who I am basically allowed me to go to and from work whenever I pleased (though I suppose that'll be different when I become president), building whatever I imagined at any given time...yeah, I had life easy. Working hard wasn't something I often did unless I just wanted to for the hell of it; I so rarely have to push my limits if it doesn't come from one of Vegeta's manipulative challenges, or hell, even my own challenges. If you don't dare me, or if I don't dare myself, work is not hard. Ever.

Amazing how things can just turn around like that in the blink of an eye, huh?

I have never worked so hard in my life. I have never felt so panicked, so helpless. I'm doing everything I can, and it's still not enough.

I'm so close.

Using Chichi and Gohan's blood as testers, I've created a sort of 'prototype' for the medicine. I compare the results of the two and take the human results away from Gohan's, leaving only the Saiyan results. After I make sure it won't...boil their blood, or something, I test it on Vegeta's. I always do this last; I don't want to have to take a lot of blood from him when he's already fighting for his life.

It's fascinating really. This virus is quite the adversary. It attaches directly to his red blood cells (which causes the pain as the blood pumps through his heart), so when the white blood cells in his immune system go to attack it, they can't, or else the red blood cells would be vanquished too. I've never seen anything like it.

The medicine is partially working. I go from microscope to petri-dish and back again, watching the powdered form of it peel away the virus and letting the white blood cells attack it. It's so close to being complete, but it doesn't separate the cells entirely. It's like it's barely hanging on by a string, and yet that's still enough to rip the red blood cells into pieces when the white cells start to attack the virus. That, as anyone could guess, would be problematic.

He doesn't scream as often now, and it goes without saying that that's not a good thing. I go to check on him regularly, every half hour, just to make sure he's alright. With all the people Daddy hired (thank God for fathers), it doesn't really put me behind schedule...or at least, any further behind than I already am. Vegeta's had the virus for almost six days. I'm running out of time.

It kills me seeing him like this. His skin is so flushed with fever, his breathing always heavy, his eyebrows knitted. Every time I come back to the lab, I'm crying. Every time I see him like that, terrible thoughts that I refuse to entertain go through my head, and I think...

What if I can't save him?

* * *

><p>Yamcha snored heavily on the couch, his limbs sprawled in multiple directions, and I almost smiled.<p>

"Go-han."

But then that almost-smile fell off my face when I remembered why he's here, why I'm here. I really don't want Vegeta to die. We've lost enough people already.

"Go-_han_."

Yamcha called me and Mother over to help out yesterday. Apparently, Trunks is a handful when he doesn't get what he wants. Mother was happy to go over. She's never liked Vegeta, that's for certain, but I think something about cooking for a full blooded Saiyan gives her this strange type of comfort. Me too, I guess. Not the cooking, of course, but you know what I mean. It's not like I talk to Vegeta all that much, nor is it like I'm in his presence often. But something about him reminds me of Dad. Not his personality, of course...I guess it is because he's a Full Blood. The natural aura of power they both had, the constant urge to fight, the love of movement...even though they were pretty much polar opposites, there was a lot of times where you'd see that they weren't all that different.

"GO-HAN!"

I jumped, realizing that Trunks had been calling me. "Sorry, Trunks," I said sheepishly, scratching the back of my neck. "What's the matter?"

"I wan see Daddy!"

I sighed. At first he'd just been pestering with 'Daddy', but when that didn't work, he started using his 'big boy talk', and had yet to see that it worked about the same. "Trunks, your Dad is sick right now, and your Mother doesn't want you catching it. You can see him later, okay?"

"Wan see Daddy now!" he said louder, glaring at me.

"Trunks, your mom said - Goten! Stop that!"

My baby brother, who is the spitting image of my father, has somehow gotten a hold of Miss Bulma's TV remote and is currently chewing on it. Now, for a normal baby, this probably wouldn't be much of a problem. But considering Goten is half Saiyan, and already has most of his teeth grown in...well, it wouldn't be the safest thing to let him do it.

He giggled as I took it and set it back down on the coffee table. "Go-go!" he said.

I groaned. "Go_han_, Goten. Not Go-go. Go_han_."

"Go-go!"

I face-palmed myself, which only made him laugh harder.

"Gohan?"

I turned and found my mother standing in the doorway that leads to the kitchen, wiping her hands on a hand towel. "Yeah?"

"Where's Trunks, honey?" she asked.

My eyes widened and I whirled, looking to the place where Trunks had been a half a second ago.

Yeah, that's definitely Vegeta's son.

* * *

><p>He woke up when he felt hands on his arm. They are small and chubby, soft in a way that even the Woman's weren't.<p>

"Hi, Daddy!"

Daddy. Okay. So...his offspring. And...Mirai was gone, right? Of course he was. He remembered, and besides, the Woman had said so. And he didn't have any other offspring, unless the Woman had neglected to tell him something, so it must have been Chibi Trunks. But that was...silly, because Trunks was downstairs with (shudder) the Weakling...and Kakabrat, now that he thought about it, and his son wasn't supposed to be up here with him, because he had a virus. And surely they weren't that stupid to let him come upstairs.

Right?

"Oh, Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaadyyyyy!"

Maybe he was just imagining things. Could a virus give a person hallucinations? He didn't have clue. He never bothered learning about Earthling diseases, and besides, this one that he'd so conveniently picked up was rare.

The hands started smacking him, very softly. "Dad- " smack "-dy-" smack "-wake-" smack "-up!" smack.

He forced his eyes open, just so he could make sure he's not hallucinating (and so he knew to beat the shit out of someone when...if...he got out of bed) and saw two big blue eyes staring at him happily.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiii Daddy!" Trunks said, giving him a toothy smile.

His lips parted, dry and parched, but nothing came out except for a pained breath of air.

Trunks frowned and stood on his tip-toes as he leaned on his father's shoulder - he couldn't very well know that he was hurting his father, now could he? - and stared at him. "Daddy's sick?"

He very slowly pulled in some air - God knows he needed it - and finally spoke. "Yes, Trunks."

"Hmm...Feel bettah tomorrow, Daddy?"

Jeez, he's told the kid a hundred times to address him as Father. "I...no, Trunks. Not tomorrow."

Trunks pouted. "Why?"

Vegeta didn't answer.

"Wan fooood, Daddy?" Trunks said, switching tactics.

...Was he hungry? He couldn't remember. He was always hungry, wasn't he?

"Daddy?"

He heard the boy start to sniffle as he gazed at him with eerily blank eyes. "Daddy's really sick?"

"Really, really sick, Trunks," he rasped. He wasn't going to lie to his son. He had more honor than that.

Trunks' sniffling got louder, until he was all out bawling. Vegeta winced at the sharp sound so close to his ears, his headache worsening. "Hush, boy," he gasped out. "Hush."

Trunks immediately stopped sobbing - he knew that when his father said to shut up, you'd better shut up or you get _the look_ and he'll yell at you. When Vegeta said nothing as the chibi looked at him expectantly, Trunks looked away, fidgeting. Vegeta closed his eyes again, his breathing shallow, and suddenly he felt more pressure on his shoulder, and something wet on his cheek.

Trunks had kissed him.

"Allll better?" the boy (was he two now? Had Vegeta missed his son's birthday?) asked hopefully.

Vegeta's mouth fell open, and he really had no clue of what he should say, but because he suddenly felt some foreign desire to be...what? A father? Is he qualified for that? He didn't know how to be a father. He didn't know how to love people. He knew how to destroy, to ruin. It's what he was trained for, what he was made for.

It had to be. It was all he knew.

But then, he thought about how God somehow graced him with a beautiful woman that put even his knowledge to shame, and how they have a son that's probably just as smart as her and just as strong as him, and he thinks that maybe that isn't true.

So he said, "Yes, son."

Trunks smiled.

"Trunks!"

Gohan stood in the doorway, looking positively mortified. "Trunks, get back here!" he said, running in and picking up the purple haired child. Trunks struggled, demanding to be put down, but Gohan didn't comply.

"Sorry, Vegeta," he apologized. "I'll just take him so you can rest."

Vegeta gazed at him through half-lidded eyes for a moment, then licked his dry lips and said, "Where's my woman?"

Gohan blinked, not expecting the question, or even a response at all. "She's down in the lab, making medicine for you."

The Full Blood closed his eyes and slowly let out a hollowed breath, listening to Gohan's light footsteps and Trunks wails until both sounds disappeared far down the stairs.

He wondered if medicine would do anything now. Could you make a medicine in...why didn't someone come in here and tell him how long it had been? Why didn't he ask Gohan?

_Once_, his tired mind said, digging up an old, tired memory_, once, you said you'd live until you defeated Frieza. Well, he died, so you said you'd live until you defeated Kakarot. And he's gone too. So what now?_

Now, he'd live long enough to make sure his son married someone dark haired to get rid of that ridiculous purple gene.

His eyes opened for a moment and were instantly met with the dull white ceiling of the infirmary, only to flutter shut a second later. His ever dulling senses barely registered the fact that he heard someone running, and he ignored it, thinking that it was another dream, or another nightmare. He didn't open his eyes again until Bulma burst into the room as if being chased by a grizzly, a grin lighting her face as she started shouting at the top of her lungs.

"I DID IT!"

* * *

><p>Vegeta had seemed to be terrifyingly still for the past few days, which I had determined was because the virus was starting to attack his nervous system too, therefore numbing out the pain. Well, if the pain was numbed before, it came back with a heavy, evil vengeance. With every tiny pill that was slid down his throat, his screams got louder and louder and louder. I gave him more shots to calm him, but with his adrenalin running on high, I might as well have given him a lollipop.<p>

"Stupid Saiyan metabolism!" I shrieked as I tried to give him another.

"Shit, woman, that hurts!" he screamed.

I stopped and gaped at him. He...he talked! That had to mean he was feeling better, because otherwise he couldn't form coherent words!

It had been 6 days since the successful completion of the medicine, which I have yet to name. Vegeta has been screaming bloody murder non-stop, so much so that I've had Chichi take Trunks to her house so he can sleep, though Gohan and Yamcha have still been around to help (I've had the team create a ton more medicine, and given everyone in the house their own dose). I haven't really slept in over a week myself, but some extra heavy black coffee was always a friend of mine.

I have never been so relieved in my life. When I looked through the microscope and saw the virus being eaten away completely, I all but passed out with joy. It took me forever to realize what I had been doing wrong. I had eliminated a factor that was present in both Chichi and Gohan's blood. So, thinking it was only a human result, I didn't factor it into my calculations. There had been absolutely nothing I could do with the prototype until I went back and double checked all of my results...and here we are.

It scares me, how close I was to losing him. He was dying, halfway gone, and if I hadn't made the discovery of the medicine results when I did, I'd have lost him forever. Not even the mighty Eternal Dragon could have given him back to me. I was so close to being just like Mirai Bulma, so close to losing him...

On the seventh day, when Vegeta's screams begin to subside and he falls into a restful sleep, I finally sat down on our bed and cried.

* * *

><p>After looking at a digital clock, I calculated that I had been out for 16 days. I would be told later that it took 10 days for the virus to be cleared out of my system.<p>

Somewhere along the line of my recovery, my muddled senses picked up Kakarot's harpy and my son leaving the compound. They came back yesterday, I believe, and apparently the Sons and that Weakling are still here. This irritates me, but as long as I don't see them, I suppose I don't really care.

My legs felt like jelly when I stood, and even though I didn't stumble, my head pounded as if I've rammed it into a wall, and when I reached up to rub my temples, I felt the rough remains of stitches. It isn't long before I remembered where such a wound came from, and I wondered if my Woman has fixed the GR yet.

I was planning on heading to the kitchen first. For this reason, it surprised me to find that I had instead made my way into Trunk's room. He is asleep on his twin sized bed, fist in his mouth.

_See, he's here. _

I growled absentmindedly and pushed the irritating voice back, this time with ease.

The brat was wearing a shirt that said, "If you think I'm cute, you should see my Daddy". I scowled heavily at this, making a mental note to burn the hideous garment the second Bulma took it off him...preferably before his birthday party tomorrow, where everyone could see it.

I scratched my cheek absentmindedly, and grimaced in remembrance of a sloppy, two year old kiss. Almost instinctively, I pulled Trunks's fist from his mouth gently, trying not to wake the boy. His fist made a small 'pop' as if left his slightly slobbery lips, and to my dismay, his blue eyes fluttered open a second later. Trunks gazed at me sleepily, blinking, before his eyes widened in delight, a giant grin on his face. "Daddy!" he yelled.

I winced at the shrill sound, but Trunks, being a toddler, took no notice. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, DADDY'S UP!" he shrieked. With that, he jumped to his feet on the bed and practically lunged at me. I grunted, almost dropping him, but the brat grabbed fistfuls of my hair and hauled himself back up.

"Ow," I protested.

He just giggled, still bouncing in my arms with excitement. "Daddy's UUUUUUUUUUUUP!" he cried.

I sighed as he wrapped his arms around my neck and squeezed with impressive force. On instinct, I nosed his hair, and he giggled again, apparently tickled. "You're making me soft, brat," I said, only half irritably.

"Vegeta?"

I whirled, and Trunks squealed happily. The Woman stood in the doorway, looking positively exhausted, and I frowned.

"You...you're awake," she said, eyes wide.

I blinked at her. "Yes, of course. You cured me, didn't you?"

She swallowed. "I..." her voice trailed off, and she let out something that sounded like a cross between a sob and a hiccup, and suddenly, I was tackled yet again.

"If you ever scare me like that again I'll find a way to kill you myself!" she yelled, smacking my chest with her tiny fist. "Dammit, Vegeta! I thought you were going to die!"

I snorted. "Foolish woman. As if some disease could ever get the best of me."

"I hate you," she sobbed, hugging me tightly. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, dammit, I love you so much."

Crazy woman.

I sighed heavily and finally wrapped my free arm around her, which ended up being the only thing that kept her from collapsing. I frowned suddenly, quickly sensing out her Ki. It didn't satisfy me any that it was jumping...I couldn't tell if it was from crying or from...

"Woman, did you take the medicine?" I demanded.

She hiccupped and looked up at me, nodded as she brushed away tears. "I gave some to everybody, even Trunks. Of course, I had to make sure it was 'baby safe' first, but -"

"Stop right there," I ordered, "before you start trying to explain to me _exactly_ how you did it."

She laughed a watery laugh and squeezed me tighter. Trunks giggled happily and patted her hair, at which she laughed again.

"Daddy's up," he told her, giving us both a giant, toothy smile.

"I know, sweetie," Bulma said. She looked up at me then, blue eyes twinkling. "And he'd better stay that way for a good, long time."

I scowled at her. "Woman, believe me when I say you will never, _ever_ have the chance to coddle me again."

She kissed me.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you all for following <em>Comatose<em> and for REVIEWing. Guess it kinda took me a while to get off my lazy butt and actually finish it, eh? Well, now I can start that new one that's so popular in my poll.**

**Look for Weapon of Mass Creation, coming June, 2012!**

**~KimiruMai**


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